


A Wish Upon Mr. Star

by moriartyisme



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-28
Updated: 2014-07-28
Packaged: 2018-02-10 20:14:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2038578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moriartyisme/pseuds/moriartyisme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After being bullied relentlessly through primary and being ignored through secondary school, Sherlock has never felt true friendship. When John comes into his life decades later, Sherlock's wish upon a star seems to have come through. But will that wish be short lived?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Wish Upon Mr. Star

"Hey! String Bean!"

"Ay-up, look it's Stick! Hey Stick!"

Sherlock sighed and ignored the boys that continued to pester him with nicknames referring to his body. He learned at the beginning of primary that if he even acknowledged them it would make them only wish to pester him more. Annoying gits. Well, Sherlock told himself, at least they were all idiots and the insults were hollow. Sure, he was skinnier and shorter than any of the rest of them, but he would grow soon. And then he would finally be able to fit in. If only he could get himself to believe that.

Sherlock headed for the same empty table he had been sitting at since his first term at primary. No one ever felt the need to engage in conversation, much less pay any sort of attention to him. He kept his head down and engrossed himself in his only companion: his thoughts.

When he returned home, he hastened his way into his room and immediately grabbed his violin. He was just learning how to play it still, so the noises that came out of it were… slightly less than gracious. At one point, his brother Mycroft came in just to complain about the noise. Apparently he "had a really bloody important test tomorrow" and wanted Sherlock to "stop that dreadful noise" before he drove his head into "the bloody wall". Sherlock made sure to play his violin extra loud after that.

Sherlock stayed in his room until supper, and then hastened back into it afterwards. It was getting dark now, so he situated himself by his window and gazed out until his eyes lay upon a solitary star in the dimming sky. Now, Sherlock wasn't a wishing type. Not even close. But this want, this desire, this passion that enveloped him was not ordinary nor could it be controlled. As he looked up into the night sky, the five year old sighed and whispered- so no one but himself could hear- "Hello there, Mr. Star. I know this is impractical, talking to a being of fire, nonetheless wishing upon it, but it seems I have no choice. This is important. More important than the chemistry set I wanted for my birthday. More important than my entire collection of books or even my musical instruments. You see, Mr. Star, if it isn't a terrible lot to ask, I would like a friend."

\-------------------------

"SHERLOCK HOLMES, YOU BLOODY IDIOT" John Watson stormed into the flat and Sherlock looked up, surprised at the tone, but just as quickly settled down as he saw John's slight smile.

"What is it John? If you cannot tell, I'm bu-"

"I'LL TELL YOU MR. 'OH SURE I'LL GRAB SOME BUTTER I'M GOING OUT LATER ANYWAY.' MRS. HUDSON HAS BEEN DOWNSTAIRS ALL DAY AND HAS NOT SEEN YOU OUT . IT'S NEAR SUPPERTIME."

It was Sherlock's turn to smile. "Well, John, as I have said once and you have ignored, I have been busy today. I think I've finally located the man causing all of the murders down in Bromley. It took a while to pinpoint where exactly he was, but it has been accomplished."

John instantly forgot about the butter and rushed over to Sherlock's side to glance at the table from the consulting detective's vantage point. He pointed at a large red pushpin right in the center of Bromley that most certainly had embedded in the table. "Is that whe-"

"Where the current abode of the serial killer is? Why yes it is John. He moves every night, but there are only so many abandoned places. We need to move if we want to capture him. Come along, John." Sherlock was already half way out the door and down the stairs before John could pull himself away from the pushpinned map. John quickly followed Sherlock out, his coat still on from when he had stormed in only a minute ago.

Once they were in the cab and the cabbie had the address, John turned to Sherlock. "This is a pretty serious murderer, Sherlock. Don't you think we should call in Lestrade and the police force and have them there with us?"

Sherlock frowned. "Absolutely not, John. Those bloody idiots would be too loud. The felon would be gone by the time we arrived, and good luck finding him again."

John sighed and looked out of the window, having known the outcome of the conversation before he ever spoke the words. But hey, didn't hurt to try, right?

Sherlock looked over at his friend and smiled, ready for the chase. His friend. That was new. And unexpected. Friendship was never a concept explained or enacted by him. As his primary years grew to secondary, the people who plagued him with insults before just ignored him instead. Of course, Sherlock didn't let it show that it got to him, but underneath the hard exterior was something worn away by time. It was his heart. And he felt with all his being that this, what he had with John, was true friendship. And it felt really, really nice.

When the cabbie pulled over at their destination, John handed over some money and ran over to Sherlock, who was across the street. "So what do we do now? Just storm in?"

"You have your gun, right?"

"Yeah, always."

"Then yes." With that, Sherlock walked up to the abandoned warehouse and tentatively tried the door. Unsurprisingly, it was unlocked. The lock has most likely rusted away over the years. "Come on" Sherlock whispered, if it weren't apparent enough. John followed him inside, carefully laying down his feet in such a manner that wouldn't draw attention if any person was listening. He instinctively pulled out his gun and held it at the ready. There were multiple doors on each side of the main, wide-open area that once held machinery of one kind or another. Sherlock nodded at John. "You take right, I'll take left."

"Okay, just be careful, alright?"

Sherlock smiled and looked over at John. "Alright."

Sherlock quickly scanned the open room, just to be safe. There was another exit at the other end of the warehouse, and about five or six doors on each side. As they separated, Sherlock glanced once more at his faithful blogger, who was in war mode now. Just as he was reaching his third door he heard John cry out and there was a loud BANG! that penetrated the air. Sherlock gasped and looked over, already fearing the worst. The consulting detective breathed a sigh of relief as he took in the view of John breathing heavily, but alright. He then caught a glimpse of a figure running out the door at the other end, and John taking off after him. It didn't take a genius like himself to figure out that John was the one that had taken the shot, thank the heavens. Sherlock didn't think but instead acted, bolting out where John had just exited, pursuing the killer.

The sun had just set and the stars were starting to bleed into existence when Sherlock finally exited the building. He heard another BANG! and John yell out once more. Sherlock's feet pounded the pavement and rounded the corner, completely expecting John to be way ahead of him and still following the murderer. Instead, Sherlock's heart leapt into his throat as he saw his friend lying on the ground, surrounded by a pool of blood. Sherlock immediately knelt down and assessed the damage, all but forgetting about the man running away from him. It was too late. Sherlock went numb. He sat down on the pavement, not caring about any blood soaking into his suit and placed John's limp head into his lap. John had a faint pulse that was dying by the millisecond. 

Sherlock peered up into the sky and he settled upon the one star out. He recalled that night decades ago, when he had stared up at a star not unlike the one he was looking at now. He recalled how his dream had come true, and in the most wonderful way. Except now was anything but wonderful. As he looked up into the sky, he could manage just a few words. "Well, hello there again Mr. Star. I have just one more wish. Please" Sherlock's voice cracked. "Please… you just gave me him…. Don't take him away so soon." With these final words, he felt John's pulse cease forever. He looked at the solitary star in disgust, and then slowly felt his hardened exterior crack into a million small pieces. As he gazed at his only friend's body, a tear slipped down his cheek followed by another and another until he was a sobbing wreck. Eventually, he did stop crying. By then it was about three in the morning. As he gazed down at John's still face with John's eyes still wide open in shock, Sherlock almost broke down again. Instead, he took a deep breath and closed John's eyes for good. 

His exterior once again became impenetrable. He placed John's head onto the unforgiving concrete surface and took his phone out of his pocket. He dialed the only person he knew would still be awake, worrying about him and John. "Mrs. Hudson, I need help."

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I'm so sorry please forgive I had to! This work was based off a headcanon on Tumblr by sherolck and pininglock, and permission was asked, granted, and this is the end result. Thank you guys so much for sticking through this and please please please let me know what you think. Thanks my dears!


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